by Angel Lawson
My fingers were pressed against the heat vents when a beast of a car sailed through the yellow light. It took a couple seconds to sink in but, the rumble of the muffler shook me to my senses. That was Liam Caldwell’s car.
It did not take more than a couple of seconds for me to decide what to do.
I followed him.
The streets were dark and fairly empty, as it was already past ten. Liam’s car moved swiftly, the muffler echoing with low rumble against the buildings. My car seemed to wheeze and groan each time I accelerated, but I managed to keep him in sight—that is, until he turned into a waterfront neighborhood. I’d been here once before, at a party for a friend from school whose father was very wealthy. The lots were huge, most surrounded by high gates. I followed the red taillights until they disappeared behind evenly spaced, black metal bars. A grand home stood behind the gates.
Pausing the Honda, I peered at the bars, trying to catch a better look at the home, and maybe of Liam himself, but I was unable to see much of the house—no, mansion—at all, other than an imposing stone chimney bathed in moonlight. A call box sat next to the driveway and two cameras were mounted on the fence. Red blinking eyes stared down at me, as if daring me to do something other than gawk.
With a quick glance over my shoulder I pulled away—the cameras enough to scare me off—the last thing I wanted was for Liam to know I’d followed him.
***
The next time he came in we had a plan. It was stupid and juvenile, but working at the tiny airport was enough to drive us all batty at times. Colleen, of course, was game.
His car flashed by the front door, going for his usual spot. It was possible he had a case of OCD, something I’d noted more than once in my journal. Same outfits, same perfect hair, same parking space. Rarely, if ever, was there any sort of variation.
Maybe my father was right. Maybe I scared him.
The moment the door swung open I caught Colleen’s eye and she said, “Read mine please.” Her words came out one octave too high but I sat casually behind my counter and pretended everything was normal.
“What sign again?” I asked.
“Leo.”
“Right. Of course.” I smiled, pretending Liam Caldwell wasn’t walking in my direction, aloofness plastered, as usual, on his face. I read the horoscope out loud. “You could have an amazing vision today, and by exercising patience and follow-through you might even be able to produce something special.”
Colleen nodded. “I had been thinking about painting my bathroom.”
“Sounds like the perfect day to do it.”
Liam approached my counter and I flashed him a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Caldwell.”
“Hello.”
“Beautiful day, don’t you think? Colleen and I were just reading our horoscopes.” I swallowed my nerves and asked, “Want me to read yours?”
He blinked, as if seeing me for the first time. “Excuse me?”
I held up the paper and kept on the fake smile. “Your horoscope. Want me to read it? I know it’s silly but it’s something we do to pass the time.”
“Uh…” He frowned, eyebrows pulling tight together. For the first time he appeared unsure. Just for a moment. Then his face returned a normal, blank expression. “Just the paperwork please.”
I handed over the clipboard and read the horoscope out loud anyway. “The day's events might not cooperate by falling in line with your planned agenda today, but divergence only becomes problematic if you are overly concerned about exercising your authority.”
The frown reappeared and Liam scratched his jaw with the end of the pen. “Are you reading that to me?”
“Sure,” I said with a shrug. “Sagittarius, right?”
“Yes, uh, how…”
“Oh well, I have your birthdate on your file here, with your license and stuff.”
This time his eyebrows shot upward. I’d triggered his stalker alert. Shit.
Like divine intervention my weather radar started beeping and a report printed from the computer. I snatched the sheet from the tray and skimmed it. “Looks like storms are coming in this afternoon.” My fingers grazed Liam’s as I gave him the report and a shiver ran down my spine.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. I won’t be flying back in this afternoon.”
“No?” I asked, hoping to drag this conversation out. It was the longest one we’d ever had.
“No.”
Okay then.
“Have a good flight. Let me know if you need anything.”
He turned to leave without another word.
***
The slash of lightning and rumble of thunder almost made me miss the signal coming from the Flight Services Station. Colleen and I were in the middle of an intense game of poker when my father called out from his office.
“We’ve got a plane coming in.”
“Did you tell them no?” I asked, dropping my cards on the table. “There was no one on the schedule!” The sound of rain overhead beat like a drum against the steel roof. It was only 4 PM but the sky was dark gray. Coming in during a storm like was suicide.
“It’s Liam Caldwell—I’m not sure he takes no for an answer,” Pop answered, tugging on his rain jacket.
“Pop! Don’t go out there,” I shouted, chasing him to the door. The crash of lightning drowned out my voice. It didn’t matter, he’d already run out the building, walkie-talkie at his ear, calling Brayden to meet him at the hangar.
I rushed across the building to the control room. Daniel, a man close to my father’s age who managed the flight plans, hovered over his monitor. “He’s crazy,” I said, more to myself than Daniel. I settled in next to him and watched the greenish blips representing Liam’s plane as he approached.
Fifteen minutes later, the plane was on track to land according to the monitor. A quick glance out the window showed no sign of the plane—but the visibility was next to nothing. My stomach twisted. “Do you think he’ll make it?” I asked Daniel.
“Mr. Caldwell is an excellent pilot.”
I wanted to believe him, fearful of what would happen to Liam or to any of us if there was a plane crash at the airport. Before I could think too hard on it, the nose of his plane pushed through the steel gray sky. The plane’s wings bobbed up and down, a sign he had little control.
“He’s going to crash,” I whispered.
He landed hard, wheels skidding to a desperate stop toward the hangar where my father and Brayden waited. I covered my eyes and waited, but the crash never came. I blinked and saw the plane sideways on the tarmac.
“Told you,” Daniel said, with a relieved grin. “Mr. Caldwell is an excellent pilot.”
My heart hadn’t stopped racing, fear being replaced by rage. How dare he risk the safety of the airport on something so insane! I’d told him about the weather before he’d left that morning. He’d been warned and completely ignored me. My father could have been killed.
I stood, knocking my chair back and left the room. I walked past Colleen and two of the maintenance guys waiting out the storm and marched outside.
“Nadya,” Colleen called. I let the door swing shut behind me.
I avoided as many puddles as I could, but more than once I stepped in water ankle deep. The cool rain soaked my boots and then my socks. I ran toward the plane, which was still on the runway. I spotted my father and Brayden’s fiery red hair at the pilot’s door and I raced toward them.
“What are you doing?” I shouted. My father was soaked. “Go inside and get dry, you’ll catch your death out here!”
“Nadya, I’m fine. Mr. Caldwell needs assistance.”
“Bullsh—“ I stopped myself from cursing in front of him. “He landed that plane. He can come in alone.”
“He’s hurt.”
I spun and looked inside the cockpit. Liam sat in the seat with a huge gash on his forehead and a busted lip. His head slumped against the headrest. “Is he conscious?” I asked, looking between the men. Brayden shrugged in reply. “H
ow the hell did he land the plane?”
Again neither man spoke, and I realized I had little choice but to take control. “Pop, get in the hangar. Brayden, carry Liam to the maintenance office and put him on the couch.”
Brayden sprang into action and I followed my father into the cavernous hangar. I was thoroughly drenched by this point, my hair plastered against my cheeks and forehead. My jeans stuck to my legs like glue and my black Nomad Airlines polo shirt hung heavily down my sides.
I grabbed the first aid kit off the wall and met the others in the office. “We should call an ambulance,” I said, but my father shook his head.
“No. He wouldn’t want that.”
I looked at the unconscious man on the yellowing couch. “Doesn’t look like he gets much of a say in the matter.”
“Nadya, trust me. Patch him up, he’ll be okay. But no ambulance.”
“Pop!”
He fixed me with a stern eye. “Nadya.”
“Fine.” I sighed, waving my hand toward the break room. “Get me an ice pack.”
I opened up the first aid kit and took out some disinfectant wipes. Leaning over, I dabbed them on Liam’s forehead, wiping the blood off the cut. The wound had swollen, jagged edges. Thankfully, it wasn’t bleeding too heavily. I moved to his face and cleaned his lip, which was more puffy than bloody.
Brayden came back with the ice pack and I laid it on his forehead, wondering how long it would be before he woke up. Once everything seemed under control, Pop and Brayden left me to watch him alone to go check on the plane.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered to his unmoving body. “I’m not a nurse or a doctor.”
I glanced at the clock on the wall and determined if he didn’t wake up in fifteen minutes I was calling an ambulance.
“Crap,” I said, jumping into action again. Blood seeped through his shirt from an injury I’d missed before. I lifted the hem, noticing, even in his current condition, how defined his body was. Who was this guy and why did he have the body of a professional athlete? I exposed his entire stomach and chest to examine the wound. Blood oozed like the other one, but this one was bad; the flesh was mangled. There was no way he’d survive that injury without medical attention. “Dear God, Liam. What happened?”
My knuckles grazed the taut skin on his belly I stopped cold. I saw a flash—a vision, of someone or something attacking Liam. Long blades sliced at his flesh and a huge fist cracked into his face. The image flickered, gone as fast as I’d seen it.
I walked out of the office and dialed 911.
“911—What is your emergency?”
“I’m at the airport on Stratton Road. We need an ambulance.”
“Can you describe the problem?”
I looked over my shoulder and back into the office. To my surprise the couch was empty. I stepped through the doorway. The entire room was empty. Nothing remained but the first aid kit on the floor and the ice pack lying on the arm rest. Bloody footsteps crossed the room but disappeared under a small window. I raced over and looked outside. Nothing but rain and wind.
What the hell?
“Ma’am?” the woman asked on the other side of the phone.
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Liam Caldwell was gone.
***
I lied to the 911 operator. I lied to my father and Brayden and Daniel and Colleen. I told them all that everything was fine. That Mr. Caldwell wasn’t as injured as he looked and that he left through the side door. Nothing to worry about.
I don’t know where the words came from, or why I felt this…compulsion to cover Liam Caldwell’s tracks, because that surely was what I was doing. The evidence was in the bloody rags I threw in the dumpster behind the hangar.
Colleen gave me a side-eye that said she had a lot of questions. My father, on the other hand, was decidedly unconcerned, which definitely made me suspicious. I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything, so I wiped up the blood and put away the first aid kit before driving home in the unrelenting rain. I climbed into bed, ready to be done with this day.
My room was the same one I’d lived in since I was three and my parents moved in this home. The walls were no longer lavender and my bed covers weren’t pink. When I turned eighteen and realized I wouldn’t be leaving the house anytime soon, I painted the room slate gray. Brown and blues accented the décor. I was determined to have the room of a grown-up, despite the location.
My room should have comforted me, but sadness cloaked every inch of our home. We should have moved when my mother died, but my father seemed to want, or need, to wallow in the past, living among the ghosts of her flower printed wallpaper and framed family photographs above the fireplace. My father gave up his family for my mother and then he lost her. I knew this was the reason for his protectiveness for me. He had no intention of losing me as well.
I’d have liked to say the thunder kept me awake, but the image of Liam’s plane weaving erratically down the runway kept replaying in my mind. The vision I’d had lingered like a hazy memory. Perhaps I made it up. The wounds on his body implied I didn’t. I tossed and turned, staring at the cracked plaster ceiling. Maybe if I hadn’t spent the last several weeks stalking him I wouldn’t have cared that much. But I did care. I wanted to know if he was okay.
Or whether maybe I was just going crazy.
The questions finally got the best of me and I tossed on some clothes and ran into the wet night for my car. The rain still came down in heavy sheets as I drove through the city, dressed only in yoga pants and a hoodie. Did I have a plan? No, but I knew where Liam lived, so what the hell. It was like the events of the evening broke down any rationale or decorum.
I was owed an answer. Or at least that’s what I told myself as I hung out the window of my still running car and rang the buzzer on his monstrous gate. The red camera lights blinked down on me like God.
“Mr. Caldwell,” I yelled through the pounding rain. “It’s Nadya. I came to check on you.”
Unsure if anyone heard my plea, I reached out to press the buzzer again. Before I could do so the gate swung slowly backwards, as if offering a reluctant invitation. Summoning my courage, I put my foot on the gas and drove down through the entrance.
***
An older woman waited on the front steps of the house with a large black umbrella. She walked to the driver’s side and waited for me to exit the car. “I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t expect someone to be out here. I was just worried about Mr. Caldwell and—“
“No worries, dear,” she replied. “This is part of my job description. Let’s get inside before we’re both swept away.”
The hem of my pants dragged through the rain as she rushed us inside the arched wooden door. I stared at the opulence around me, the massive chandelier to the wavy leaded-glass windows. I waited as she shook out the umbrella and pointed to a spot to place my shoes. “This way,” she said, taking off down the hallway at a brisk pace. Like a drowned, barefoot rat, I shivered and followed her.
“Is he all right?” I asked.
She didn’t reply, instead stopping at the open double doors of a great room—no, I thought, spotting the rows and rows of books. A library. Finer than the one we had in town. I felt the dry heat of the roaring fire. Taking a moment to make sure no one was watching me, I pinched the tender flesh on the inside of my arm. Motherfu— okay. I was definitely awake.
“Following me again?” I heard, over the rustle of newspaper. He stood and tossed the paper into fire, igniting a flash of bright flames. Liam Caldwell’s frame appeared hulking in the flickering light. The t-shirt he wore accentuated muscles I did not know existed until earlier that day, the ones normally hidden by his conservative daily outfit.
“I…”
“I guess I understand,” he said, cutting me off. His eyes gleamed green and shiny—clearly a reflection from the fire, but something about it left me unnerved. “I left the airport quite abruptly.”
The shadows of the room kept most of his face dark and fo
r a brief moment I was afraid—no, terrified. But I drove here by myself—no one forced me. I swallowed my fear and asked, “Are you okay?”
From my spot in the doorway I couldn’t make out the injury on his face. Curious, I took a tentative step into the room.
“I’m fine. Looked worse before I cleaned myself up. There’s no need for concern.”
Something across the room caught my eye—a painting. The colors dull with age, but it looked familiar, like I’d seen it in a book. That’s when I noticed the shelves, not the ones lined with books, but the ones filled with artwork and trinkets. Small statues and framed photographs. Everything had the feel of age but seemed well cared for. Not a speck of dust lingered in the air. And even though I’d never experienced it myself, I could sense great wealth in every object in the room.
“Do you like art?” he asked, breaking me from my thoughts.
“Sure, I guess,” I replied. “I don’t know much about it though.” I pointed to the one I’d noticed first. “That one looks familiar; where have I seen it before?”
He looked at the painting, studying it almost. “I don’t know. It’s been in my family for generations.”
Maybe that was where all this wealth came from: family.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, eyeing the painting once again. Bold, heavy strokes created the impression of a watery landscape. Liam didn’t respond, but looked expectant—like someone waiting for an unannounced guest to leave. “Okay, well, if you’re all right, then I guess I should go.”
Liam offered me a tight smile. “Let me walk you to the door.”
He passed me and entered the hallway, and escorting me back the way I came. The house was silent, no sign of the woman that escorted me the first time. When we reached the foyer he paused. “As much as I appreciate your concern, please do not follow me again, Nadya. It isn’t safe.”
“Safe? What do you mean?” From our close proximity I could see that the injury on his face had fully healed. I dropped my eyes to his chest, but there was no evidence of a bandage under his thin shirt. Without thinking I reached forward, more curious than I’d ever been, but he stepped deftly away and my hand grasped nothing but air.
